


An Opinion on Everthing

by plaidbaby



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, Irish Murder Kittens, Sebastian Honey You Need to Be Quiet Now, Talking, Why am I so fond of the adventures of Moran and Moriarty?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-31
Updated: 2011-12-31
Packaged: 2017-10-28 13:20:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/308274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plaidbaby/pseuds/plaidbaby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the kinkmeme prompt: "5 times Sebastian Moran would have been better off keeping his mouth."</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Opinion on Everthing

As Sebastian hung upside down he was met with a sort of painful euphoria, this was probably used as a sort of meditation device somewhere, hanging upside down. It gave him a chance to look back over his life and consider the way his mouth and his brain had a tendency to get together while circumventing his filter.

1.

The first time, well obviously not the first but the first big time, was in the middle of church and he had just noticed something. He pulled on his mum's coat sleeve, and of course, being four lacked proper volume control when he asked innocently in the middle of the hymn, "Mummy, how come Daddy looks at ladies' bums all the time?"

A curious well of silence opened up, like his question was a black hole that sucked everything else up.

2.

The second time he had been compelled to run half dressed through the woods while being chased by his own car. He was young still and believed that women actually wanted to be told the truth, so when Jessica had asked he had honestly told her because Annie was already taken and he had heard she was easy.

Later while hunting a tiger he had flashbacks to that night. It had been disconcerting.

3.

The third time was one of the most valueable times Sebastian's mouth had run away with him because it had taught him discipline. Sebastian loved the military, it was simple and elegant. People assumed that with his occasional dangermongering and his position of chief of staff to a pyschopath (which might be related) that his love of the military had something to do with death. But no, he like the order and structure of it. About being beaten down and remade.

He had got a preticular beat down when he, seemed to have temporarily lost track of his mouth and said calmly into the face of his commander, "Yes, sir, I do think that my boots are shined enough, Sir."

4.

He had never hated his mouth more than the fourth time. He had done his job, he had done what needed to be done. He hadn't blinked. He had saved his men and that wasn't wrong.

"I did it."

If he had just kept his mouth shut...

They couldn't dishonorably discharge him, not unless they wanted to wanted to completely blacken the rescue of British soldiers from the grip of the enemy, but they couldn't keep him any more. And now that he had actually admitted to being responsible...

Someone had his bags packed before he got back to his room that night.

5.

The last time was what led to this, hanging upside down in his boss' office watching him absently as he typed away. Jim's lips suddenly pursed slightly with his teacup halfway to his lips (wedgewood, 200 quid, _thank you_ ) and his eye shifted slightly. "The hobnobs are under the blueprint of the Lourve."

"Thank you," Jim said thinly, still testy and shifted his papers around.

"Anytime," he said upside down.

What had put Sebastian in this position was actually a run of the mill day. There was a new fellow, nice sort of blokey man who was just getting to meet the Boss for the first time after some _tremendous_ work in Russia.

"What is he like?" the man had asked wide eyed and terrified.

Sebastian had thought of Jim, small and narrow, little hands, big eyes, tendency to give way to glee and frolic around the explosives. In a hand to hand fight, Sebastian could wreck him, could utterly break him into pieces. They had both learned that on the Witherspoon project when Sebastian had physical lifted, managed and removed a struggling pyschopath from the midst of very real danger. Jim had been beyond enraged, but he didn't care as long as Jim was alive. But there was also sense of delicacy you got, and the sense of danger, slim and sweet as a razor's edge cutting into your brain and he had replied with the first thing that came into his head, "He's like a bunny, a death bunny in a very nice suit. Or a kitten, a little Irish murder kitten."

Jim had been standing at the door as they approached with a peculiar expression on his face. After the meeting was over Jim had started trembling like a small bird. "A kitten? A kitten?"

He had wrenched open the bottom drawer of his desk, yanking out the manicles he kept there, "You and your mouth Seb, _one of these days._ "

Sebastian had sighed and started taking off his boots. One of these days he really _should_ learn to keep his mouth shut, until then, he'd be hanging upside down.


End file.
